


The Pick-up Counter (also known as: It's Cool to Meet You, Is All)

by linearoundmythoughts



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Pacific Rim Secret Santa 2015, this is like my version of a coffeeshop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 06:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15237195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linearoundmythoughts/pseuds/linearoundmythoughts
Summary: The man was…attractive, in the odd sort of way that Hermann, regrettably, had a preference for in someone’s looks, and he was touching Hermann’s coat, and blustering with praise for Hermann’s intellect, while also crowding him into a seat, and the whole thing was very terrible and Hermann wasn’t sure he disliked any of it, which was the worst part. [AKA I wrote silly fic for xmas again]Originally written for the Pacrim Secret Santa back in 2015.





	The Pick-up Counter (also known as: It's Cool to Meet You, Is All)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-upload. My original notes read as such:
> 
>  
> 
> _This fic is a gift for tumblr user quokkafoxtrot! You wanted something that was about our favorite nerds "being absolutely besotted with each other and trying to be low-key about it" which was a good challenge 1) embarrassingly enough, English is my only language but I never heard the word "besotted" before (it's so cute, I just had to keep researching all the definitions - I think I got it!) and 2) because after too much film analysis, to me now, they're /always/ acting like that, aren't they? ;) (bless them for it, hehe -and now I have a word for it!) This was a fun one, and I thought I'd get silly with it, like I usually do (or my other mode is angst, like most of us, I think, and that's not very fun for the holidays!)_  
>  Thank you for the prompt, and Merry Christmas - I hope you have a wonderful holiday, and a great new year!!!  
> (I also apologize to everyone for making baristas be the bad guy for this silliness. Baristas are great and the holidays are crazy for them and everyone be extra nice to baristas who are working hard - but you all already know that! ♥)

The inside of the Starbucks café seemed to be marginally warmer than it was outside. Surely, the heat had to be turned up to a temperature higher than it felt, but the bitter cold had won out. Two walls of the entire establishment were made of glass, which didn’t help matters, and if the front door had been opened as often today as it had been since Hermann started waited in line (seventeen times—to be precise, seventeen and a half times—someone changed their mind about leaving and turned back inside) it was obvious as to why it was—

“ _Freezing_ in here!” the man in front of Hermann whined, for the twelfth time. Each time he said it, it sounded different—he enunciated and emphasized syllables in a new order with each complaint. Hermann pursed his lips tighter, unable to stop himself from scowling more with each passing minute. He just wanted his drink to be placed on the pick-up counter already, so he could get a seat before they were all taken. This establishment was not on Hermann’s list of places he enjoyed frequenting, but he’d been too desperate to get out of the cold and snow to walk any further or seek anywhere different.

One of the women behind Hermann stopped tapping her phone against the counter and muttered, “Like complaining’s gonna help,” loud enough for Hermann to hear. He laughed internally. The woman with her stopped texting, chastised her companion for trying to “start something,” which the tapper denied, though she sounded slightly embarrassed. The man in front of Hermann hopped on his heels again, strung complaint number thirteen and fourteen together, completely unaware of anyone else around him. The tapping behind Hermann resumed, though this time she switched time signatures to a more frantic pace, and Hermann knew that this environment was truly starting to make him anxious because he was resorting to _counting_ , so he would have something to concentrate on. The excess sound should have annoyed him, but instead, he sympathized with the frustration that seemed to inspire it, and he silently followed along with her rhythm, his fingers twitching as he gripped his cane.

A barista paused his work to see at how many customers were waiting for drinks, staring at the line behind Hermann. He awkwardly put both cups he was holding down on the counter, and sprinted away, into the back room. The man who was particularly annoyed with the cold grabbed the cup closest to him and started _gulping_ it down, without even walking away. Hermann considered the other cup—it had no markings on it to show what the order even _was_ , let alone whose drink it was. He turned to peer at the women behind him. The taller of them was the one tapping, and she caught his eye and shook her head, her black hair falling out of her scarf. “Naw, not ours,” she pointed, gesturing that he should take it.

Hermann reached out for the cup, the barista returned from the back, still looking shell-shocked, and the insufferable stranger who still hadn’t _left_ stopped drinking and just about _slammed_ the cup back on the counter so haphazardly that it wobbled and almost collapsed. “Sorry, wrong drink,” he said as he reached out for Hermann’s cup, snatching it away right from under Hermann’s extended hand, and _started drinking it_. The barista stared. Hermann froze, not daring to move a muscle, other than his eyes, to watch the—the—the _unspeakable fact that someone had just invaded his personal space and stolen his drink_ and had now start downing it, only to put it back on the counter, declared that “both are awful” and started passionately ranting about the evils of the _entire corporation_. The woman behind Hermann stopped tapping and snickered. Hermann was about to storm out, but the man started talking to him right before Hermann turned away, asking him something about what he’d ordered, while the barista ran off again, probably seeking a manager.

“I know they’re overworked, and I don’t want to be like, _that_ customer,” the man yammered on. “But seriously, I don’t know what you ordered but it was terrible too, trust me, and—wait, oh my god, are you—“ the man pointed at him frantically, eyes wide. “You look just like him, you’re—you’re Hermann Gottlieb, aren’t you? Holy _shit_!”

Hermann finally met his eyes, and the man got more animated in his excitement.

“Dr. Hermann Gottlieb?” he asked. “The physicist? Mathematician? I’ve read your articles? You even worked in robotics, right? The robotics stuff is what inspires me the most, truly.”

“Yes, I—um,” Hermann stumbled. “That—that is my name. I’m…yes. It’s…not a…a, please excuse me, it’s not a normal occurrence in my life to be recognized for my work outside of…”

The Starbucks manager brought over the drinks the women next in line had ordered, and motioned for the barista to take away the cups that Hermann’s…new acquaintance had drank. “If you two can wait another moment, your drinks will be out soon,” she explained. “Please, have a seat, I’ll bring them to you.”

“Yeah, okay, thank you, that’s great, I really appreciate it,” the man reached out for Hermann’s arm and started…escorting? Ushering? Hermann wasn’t sure what to call it, but he was guiding them both to a wobbly-looking table and two chairs, rambling about Hermann’s work. It suddenly didn’t feel so cold as before, and Hermann prayed he wasn’t blushing. The man was…attractive, in the odd sort of way that Hermann (regrettably) had a _preference_ for in someone’s looks, and he was touching Hermann’s coat, and blustering with _praise_ for Hermann’s intellect, while also crowding him into a seat, and the whole thing was very terrible and Hermann wasn’t sure he disliked any of it, which was the worst part. What an odd evening.

“I kind of am like, a fan of yours, if you can’t tell,” the man grinned sheepishly. “I mean, we’re not in the same field, not really, I mean, maybe someday we will be? If there’s ever a new discovery that requires people with both our specialties—okay, you have like, eight specialties, but I’m the same way myself, well, probably more like twenty, in my case, but anyway, I read everything I can but it’s usually just garbage, people dragging their research on just for the money, but your stuff is so,” the man gestured with his hand at about the same level of the top of his hair—nice hair, something that could be described as wavy but it stood up like it was spiked. Hermann had really only ever seen that hairstyle once before but surely that was just— _Focus, Hermann_ —

“There’s rarely anything—or anyone—that actually keeps me engaged, alright, let me tell you that, I’m just out here doing my work, like half my life by now, _bored to death_ , because everyone’s intellect and very fuckin’ _essence_ of any kind of passion or interest in what they’re talking about is like,” the man waved his hands in some kind of circular motion at the floor, and Hermann had no idea what anything he was saying meant or what was going on and he could, at least, claim that he disliked this part, the ‘being confused’ part.

“Are you in academia, then?” Hermann tried to ask, giving up hope that there would be a pause where he could try to figure out if he should ask the question then. He must’ve used a tone far more severe than he meant, because the man looked startled, opening his mouth wordlessly and closing it again before answering.

“Um,” he blinked, and bit his lip. “Yes? PhD too, blah, blah, blah.”

Hermann remained silent, waiting for him to expand on his answer, but he launched back into what seemed to be his unending need to keep talking. “I thought about emailing you once, you know? I mean, I didn’t do it because I figured that, well, I didn’t think you’d respond to someone who just wanted to talk about, I don’t know, your work? And the lecture you gave at Oxford, the one on YouTube? That's how I recognized you, by the way, if you were wondering, again, kind of a fan here, sorry. But yeah, the one about, what did you call it, the poetry of mathematics? Or that mathematics isn’t poetry—math isn’t even my thing, like, the level you’re into it on is—” Newton vaguely waved his hand near his head, “but I don’t know, you made it sound poetic and man, I would kind of just want to listen to you talk about it more and—” He stopped. “I’m sorry, I am probably freaking you out right now away, I just. It’s cool to meet you, is all,” He leaned back, crossed his arms, and tried to breathe slower. “It’s whatever. It’s cool. It’s fine. It’s just…yeah. It’s cool to meet you.”

Hermann waited to see if the silence was going to last. The man’s behavior was very… _confusing_ …but Hermann didn’t feel threatened by it. Annoyed, perhaps, but also…a bit enthralled at the animation and liveliness he demonstrated, all that passion that Hermann felt for his work as well, all the joy in it that Hermann tried so hard to hide, too ashamed to seem overly enthused to the outside world.

“What is your name?” Hermann asked, trying to sound more casual this time.

“Oh shit, sorry. Hi,” he stuck his hand out, as if someone had once tried to train him how to properly introduce himself to someone, and he just remembered. Hermann extended his hand. “Newt Geiszler, ‘doctor’ Newton Geiszler, if you want get formal about it,” he said, while shaking Hermann’s hand. Hermann froze, and Newt looked at their hands. “Um, MIT grad, I’m still there, I work there,” he explained, and tried shaking Hermann’s hand again. Hermann didn’t respond. “I, uh,” Newt narrowed his eyes, shifted his gaze back and forth once, before looking at Hermann again. “I’ve only been teaching some undergrad classes lately, while I work on my third PhD. Try to write some new music, too. It’s been a while.”

“You’re earning a _third_ PhD?” Hermann asked, shocked.

“Yeah?” Newt replied.

“ _Why_ are you earning a _third_ PhD?”

“Um, because I _want to_?” he sounded insulted. “By the way, are we just gonna keep…holding hands? This handshake that isn’t ending is…‘cause I mean, that’s, totally cool, I don’t mind—casual human contact is a good thing and everyone needs to not be so uncomfortable with it but also, I’m not… _I’m_ not uncomfortable but I don’t want you to be…I’m gonna guess you’re okay with this? Okay.” He let their hands fall the last inch or two to come rest on the table.

“You’re _him_ ,” Hermann croaked.

“I guess? Is that a good ‘you’re _him_ ’ or is that a _bad_ ‘you’re _**him**_ ’ because I honestly get both all the time, so.” Newton shuffled in his seat.

Hermann thought about counting something, _anything_ , to not have to process that he was now somehow _holding hands_ with _Newton Geiszler_. The _hair_. No wonder Hermann recognized the style. He should prioritize pulling his hand _away_ , since this was never his intention, but he was motionless with panic.

“The Black Velvet Rabbits…” Hermann choked out.

“You—you know my stuff?” Newton seemed as confused as Hermann.

“I’ve read your articles too, then,” Hermann—God help him— _giggled_ somewhat, and felt himself break out in a grin on one side of his face. “I’ve been a fan for years, I—I discovered your music on YouTube and, well, the comments mentioned that you were a biologist and so I read what links were provided…” Hermann was so embarrassed, but Newton just _laughed_ and smiled, his eyes bright. He didn’t look at Hermann with any ridicule; in fact, his amusement seemed to be…happiness.

Hermann really was a fan. He rarely found music that suited his tastes, and besides the references to science, BVR didn’t appeal to him at first (too unstructured, too emotional, even sometimes too risqué), but the reasons Hermann didn’t like the music at first became why he came to love it, and kept revisiting it. He had no desire in being a _groupie_ , so he tried to keep the artist (artists? Hermann didn’t even know anything about the other members of the group—he was so flustered at the moment that he couldn’t remember if there _were_ any—it seemed like a solo project, at times) separate from the art, and just enjoy the music for its own sake. They weren’t a famous group, by any means—he had no idea what genre to consider BVR, but they had to be unsigned and seemed completely self-produced. It felt wrong to look up too much about the man who had a mind brilliant enough to do the research he had _and_ make such inventive music, but Hermann had, on occasion, seen a photograph here or there of the man, always wearing a pair of sunglasses, and found him handsome. It didn’t need to go further then that.

Newton picked his head up, surprised, and Hermann sensed that someone had come up to their table.

“One for you, and, one for you!” the Starbucks manager had arrived. She placed their new drinks on the table, dropped her eyes to how they were holding hands, and smiled warmly at each of them before excusing herself and apologizing once again about the original drink’s quality. Newt thanked her softly and Hermann remembered to blurt out his thanks as well, but a moment too late.

“Did you forget about these?” Newt asked, pointing at the coffees, still grinning, still holding Hermann’s hand.

“It wasn’t the first thing on my mind, I will confess,” Hermann said sarcastically, but lightly, feeling amused enough to try to make Newton laugh again, and it worked.

Two. Two times. Hermann was going to count each one.

**Author's Note:**

> All I remember about writing this is that the two women are supposed to be Jessica Jones and Trish Walker, lol. Thanks for reading.


End file.
